The Letter
by Miss Puppet
Summary: The letter was never meant to be read by him. In a fit of loneliness she had written down her feelings for him, merely as a way of dealing with the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that his absence seemed to evoke in her. But now it was gone...
1. Chapter 1

**The Letter  
><strong>_Rated_: K+  
><em>Pairings<em>: Carson/Hughes  
>Disclaimer: It could not be less mine. Julian Fellowes wrote Downton Abbey, which is produced by Carnival Films for ITV Network.<br>_Spoilers_: None, since it´s set in the first season.  
><em>Summary<em>: The letter had never been meant to be send. In a fit of loneliness she had written down her feelings for him, merely as a way of dealing with the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that his absence seemed to evoke in her. He was never going to read the words. But now the letter was gone…  
>Genre: Fluff and romance. Basically, this is just a McFluffy.<p>

_Author´s note:  
>My response to the February letter challenge issued on lovebelowstairs. It´s very fluffy to the point of it being a little OC perhaps. But I hope you´ll enjoy it nevertheless.<em>

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><p>The current dishevelled state of her parlour was most unusual for the housekeeper of Downton, but as she rummaged frantically through the drawers of her desk and cabinet, Elsie Hughes felt she couldn´t be much bothered about this particularly breech of propriety when so much more was at stake. For the eight time she checked every single object on the surface of her desk, before giving a growl of frustration and unceremoniously gathering everything up in her arms and dumping it on the sofa. Then she pulled every drawer from her desk, stacking in carelessly on the floor. The skeleton of her desk stared emptily back at her and with a almighty tug she managed to pull the still heavy oak wood frame a few inches from the wall. Holding her breath in anticipation, she lifted an oil lamp and anxiously peered behind the desk, hoping to find the object she had been so feverishly looking for there.<p>

Her shoulders slumped when her hopes were dashed and no such object had slipped into the tiny space between her desk and the wall. Realizing then that this could only mean that the object she was looking for was either among the pile on the sofa or had found its way into one of the drawers, she proceeded to pick up each and every item from the couch and placing it neatly back on top of her desk, now pushed against the wall again. Twenty minutes later the sofa was empty and her desk organized again, but there was still no trace of the missing item. One by one she turned the drawers over on the sofa and shifted through them, making sure she checked and double-checked everything before putting it back.

At long last there was nothing else for her to do than to admit defeat. And she did so with a deep sigh, bordering on a sob, as she sagged down on the once again empty sofa, ready to weep in panic and frustration. Pearls of sweat – now turning cold with fright – bathed on her forehead and strands of unruly, curly hair had come loose from her neat bun and wired madly around her head. Once again she scanned the surface of the floor, almost willing the cream coloured envelope to appear. It couldn´t have gone – it was simply impossible. It hadn´t acquired little legs by itself and she was absolutely certain she had placed in on her desk the night before.

Running her hands over her face she once against cursed herself for given in to this ridiculous, sentimental impulse the night before. If only she had kept her common sense, if only she hadn´t act like a love-struck, silly schoolgirl, if only she had burned the blasted letter before having the sheer stupidity of losing it…

Of course, late last night she hadn´t felt quite so foolish and stupid. It had been very much of a relief to confide the feelings and thoughts she had kept hidden for so long to a piece of paper. Reassuring herself that he would never read the words she was penning down, that in fact no-one but herself would ever read them, had removed the last barrier of restraint and she had poured out all said feelings and thoughts with a measure of enthusiasm that even surprised herself.

In retrospect this rash action was mostly spurred on by the plain and simple fact that she missed him like mad. April wasn´t even gone yet, but it felt like he had been gone for months already. He had left with the family for the London Season in the second week of March and he wouldn´t be back until the 12th of June. _He_ was of course Charles Carson, Downton´s butler, her best friend and closest colleague.

She found that she missed him more than during the previous years. Of course she always missed him. Where once she had enjoyed the spring season as a time where new life began, she had now began to dread it as the time of year when everything remotely interesting removed itself from her life. While most people congratulated her on the months of peace and leisure she had with the family away, she felt herself getting more nervous and restless with each passing week. The grand rooms felt empty without the family present and downstairs the servant rooms felt abandoned without him there.

The long evenings in her parlour were dull and tedious without him there to listen to her ramble about incompetent housemaids of sharing the latest bit of news. He would never admit that they were gossiping – neither would she for that matter-, but they both maintained that they liked to be well-informed and so they took great pains to ensure the other was as informed as possible.

It wasn´t until he was gone that she realized how much she enjoyed listening to his low, rumbling voice and how much his short, but dry comments brightened her day. It wasn´t until he was gone that she realized how much he actually meant to her. During the day she missed him as her colleague and friend and late in the evening, when she finally stopped being Downton´s strict and proper housekeeper for a few minutes and just became Elsie Hughes, she missed the man he was. The man that could make her heart skip a beat if he looked her in the eye and smiled that little smile of his. The man who could set her skin on fire and rush the blood to her cheeks whenever he accidentally brushed her in the corridor, or when his leg bumped hers underneath the table.

Of course he had not the slightest notion of the effect he was having on her. She had never let on that much, partly because she simply never had found a way to casually drop into the conversation that she was rather infatuated by him and partly because he had never given her the faintest indication that he was even remotely interested in her that way.

For some reason her withdrawal symptoms were even greater than usual this year. Other years she was somewhat alright until at least two months after he had gone, keeping herself busy with various tasks and projects. But this year she simply hadn´t gotten used to the fact that he wasn´t there in the first place. She had been missing him from the moment he had stepped in the car to be driven away to the station, had been counting the days until his return and now, almost two months later felt absolutely certain that she wouldn´t make it through another six weeks with him gone.

And so last night she had finally given into the temptation, had pulled a sheet of paper from her desk and had written down exactly how much she missed him, how much she longed for his return and just much in love with him she was. Because it was as plain and simple as that: she was in love with him. She cared more about him than probably any other person in the world, he was her best friend, she loved him a great deal, but aside from all that, she was also very much in love with him. As irrational, undignified and juvenile as it was.

Writing those sentiments down had given her a great experience of liberation and she found that once she had started, she could barely stop the words from flowing from her pen. Once she had found the words the first time, they kept coming as if her heart was quickly teaching her fingers a whole new way of expressing itself.  
>Of course, the letter was never meant to be read by him. She was never actually going to send it to him. It was more a letter addressed to herself than to him, just so that she had something tangible that showed her feelings.<p>

In the morning she would devote an hour to writing him a prim and proper housekeeper letter, filled with details and updates about the going-ons of the house and the village. Friendly, but guarded, warm of tone, but very reticent. And he would write back to her. Surprisingly long letters, penned in his even, sturdy handwriting, telling her about the whereabouts of the family and London and filled with little anecdotes and observations.

It were his letters that became the highlight of her week and kept her moderately sane as the weeks stretched out.

The letter she had written him last night would never find its way to him. She planned on keeping it safely tucked away between the letters he´d send her from London. But being the thorough perfectionist that she was, she had for some unfathomable reason put the letter into one of the creamy envelopes she used as her personal stationary and had written the address of Grantham House carefully in the right corner below. Even though it was never to be send, even if this heart cleansing, deeply emotional letter had been nothing more than a midnight folly, a way of relieving some of the tension of her unrequited love.

But now it was gone.

When she had come into her parlour that morning after finishing her rounds, she had intended to pick it up from her desk and clear it away safely in one of the drawers of her cabinet where she kept all his other letters under lock. But one look at her desk had told her that the letter was no longer there. Frowning and fighting down the first twinge of panic she had set out for a search, trying to convince herself that the letter was probably just misplaced, or had slipped down in one of the drawers or behind her desk.

But it was almost noon now and the letter was still nowhere to be found, while her rising feeling of panic refused to be rationed away any longer. If this letter fell into the wrong hands the amount of drama that would ensue from it would be unbearable. She shuddered to think what would happen if O´Brien or Thomas would ever got their snarky hands on it.

Wiping a desperate tear from her eye, she got to her feet again and readied herself for another thorough search of her parlour when a short knock on her door was heard. Grudgingly she called for admittance and barely kept herself from sighing when the door opened and revealed Mr Moseley standing on the threshold. At the best of times young Mr Crawley´s valet got on her nerves easily and in situations like these she found she had even less patience for him.

Why Charles insisted that he came over regularly when he was in London to ´lend a helping hand´ she would never understand. But nevertheless he was here, eyeing her oddly with a uncertain smile on his face.

¨Are you quite alright, Mrs Hughes?¨ he inquired with a nervous laugh. ¨You look a bit out of sorts if you don´t mind me saying so.¨

¨I seemed to have misplaced a rather important letter,¨ she replied tersely, hoping he would scamper off soon. But then his next words caused her to freeze in horror.

¨Was that letter by any chance addressed to Mr Carson?¨

She nodded wordlessly, simply unable to produce any sound as a nauseating feeling of dread started to well up inside her when he replied quite cheerfully:

¨Don´t worry about it, I noticed it lying on your desk this morning and I have already took it to the post office for you. I was just in time for the early post train, so it´s probably on its way to London as we speak...¨

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><p><strong>As always, I very much like to hear what you think!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews, PM´s and alerts. I´m having a lot of fun trying to write Elsie into a lunatic asylum, so this story will have a total of four chapters. Most of it is already written, so you can expect the last chapter on Tuesday.  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

¨I´m merely trying to point out to you that the cream damask would go so much better with this particularly set of china,¨ Charles was pointing out exasperatedly, holding on to his last shred of patience. ¨I would be very much obliged if you would adjust the linen rota accordingly.¨

¨The linen rota is a housekeeper´s duty, Mr Carson!¨ Mrs Williams´ voice clipped disapprovingly. ¨And _I_ would be very much obliged if you did not interfere with it!¨

¨It´s both the butler and the housekeeper´s duty to ensure that tonight´s dinner runs smoothly and meets the highest standard of decorum,¨ he countered tersely.

¨We would meet these standards easily if you did not keep changing table setting every last minute,¨ Mrs Williams replied with a sulky edge to her voice.

Charles barely kept himself from groaning out in frustration. ¨I was only informed an hour ago that Lord Covington would join the family for dinner. Had it been merely a family dinner I would have gone with another set of china that required the white damask as we had agreed on originally. However, now that Lord Covington is included in the party, I feel that using the Royal Doulton would be more appropriate.¨

¨As would the Worcester, Mr Carson,¨ Mrs Williams snapped back. ¨I fail to see why you see it fit to upheaval the routines of the laundry maids.¨

¨It will mean a bit of extra work for them,¨ he conceded. ¨But surely if you explained the situation to them they would understand. It´s what the Downton housekeeper, Mrs Hughes does and it never fails to…¨

In retrospect this had of course been the worst thing he could have possibly said and with a poisonous: ¨But I´m not Mrs Hughes, am I?¨ Mrs Williams left his office in a huff.

Staring bewildered after her figure that stamped off in an indignant manner, Charles thought warily to himself that at least agreed on that sentiment. Sighing deeply, he rubbed his temples, feeling a massive headache emerging. Only six more weeks, he tried to reassure himself. Six more weeks and he would be home again. Home at Downton, home where his very competent staff could be found, along with his very competent housekeeper. _Elsie…_

Elsie wouldn´t have made a fuss about a request for the cream damask instead of the white one. Elsie would have probably recognized herself that it was a better fit with the Royal Doulton he was planning to use for tonight´s dinner party.

Briefly he berated himself for calling her Elsie in his mind, when he had never actually asked her permission to take that liberty. However, it was a small indulgence he allowed himself whenever the weariness of being away from Downton for so long began to set in fully.

Usually the first weeks tended to fly by, busy as he was with setting up the household again after the long absence of its master, making sure everything ran smoothly again and was up to his impeccable standards. But then, after a week or four something inside him began to stir. At first his annoyance with the constant noise and smog of London would start to irritate him and he would long for the quietness of the Yorkshire countryside and its fresh air. Before he fell asleep at night he envisioned himself walking through the corridors of Downton, trying to remember every little detail, hoping that if he created a clear enough picture in his mind´s eye it would feel for a moment as if he was truly back.

He had long ago given up any precedence that it was just the house that he missed. As devoted as he was to the family, whenever he was away from her, he realized with a painful clarity that his heart was even more tied to her. As long as she was near, he could convince himself that she was nothing more than a highly-valued colleague and a good friend. And perhaps the most captivating woman he knew. But during the long months when he was his London, his mind slowly but surely began to reveal what it had managed to hide in oblivion before.

When his memory of Downton – and of her began to fade to the point where he could no longer recall the scents of the house or just exactly what the colour of her eyes was, his dreams began to paint him much more vivid images, betraying just how much deeper his wishes and desires concerning her were. In was then that he began to refer to her as ´Elsie´ in the privacy of his mind, as a small concession to both his ardent feelings and his unwavering sense of propriety. It wouldn´t do for a man of his station and position to make advances towards someone placed in his care. And as much as anyone would try to dispute the fact that Elsie Hughes needed to be taken care of (she herself most insistently) he couldn´t help but feel that that was the heart of the matter: her well-being, her comfort at Downton was his responsibility. And any unwanted attentions on his part surely would only lead to her feeling highly unsettled.

For some unexplainable reason he found it a great deal easier to keep these feelings under a tight lock when he was at Downton than when he was at London. Perhaps absence really did make the heart grow fonder, but in his case it also made his thoughts more occupied and the ache in his chest whenever he thought of her more profound.

What didn´t help either was that the London housekeeper, Mrs Williams, couldn´t possibly have been more different from Elsie. Where Elsie was his ally in every matter concerning the house, he found that with Mrs Williams often felt like a competition of some sort. Their frequent collisions over the most trivial matters were wearing him down to no end. It wasn´t so much that he never had a disagreement with Elsie – the plain fact was that they´d had plenty. She was fierce, opinionated and every bit as stubborn as he was. But he found himself willing to take a flare of her Scottish temper any day over the gruesome, passive-aggressive behaviour of Mrs Williams.

And – although he was ashamed to admit that even to himself – he couldn´t help but comparing her physical appearance to that of Elsie on numerous occasions. He found the London housekeeper to be a disturbingly bony woman, every angle of her body as straight and square as the next and he often remembered rather fondly how Elsie´s hips would sway slightly as she walked away from him, causing the keys to make their jingling sound as they dangled alongside her rustling skirts.

As opposed to Mrs Williams beady eyes, Elsie´s were of a deep blue colour and after all their years of working together, he thought he could easily read every emotion from them. He knew how they acquired a bit of a twinkle whenever she teased him or shared something she found humorous. He knew her eyes softened just a bit whenever they rested upon young William or lady Sybil. And became sharp and guarded whenever she watched Thomas. He knew how her eyes followed him, sought his constantly as they were dealing with the staff or the family. There was something comforting in it, that he only had to glance sideways to find her unwavering support, her practical nature and sharp mind right there next to him.

But more than anything he missed her voice. And after two months of having to endure Mrs Williams shrill tones he longed for her soft Scottish lit. She never had to raise her voice. Not to him or to any of the housemaids under her jurisdiction. Just the intensity of it whenever she was wanted her point to come across was enough. He remembered a particular instance last year, just after Charles Grigg had returned to his life. The aftermath of this highly unsettling reminder of his shameful past had been a particularly humbling experience for him. Having been exposed to the possibility of ridicule from both his employers and his staff had caused him to examine the validity of his position, swinging the old feelings of shame and insecurity he thought he had buried after years of hard work and rigorous self-control into full motion again. He had voiced those feelings to her, even though she didn´t have a clue as to where they had originated from, in a hesitant and almost shy manner, one afternoon as they´d been getting ready to the ceremony of the installation of Mrs Crawley as board member of Downton Hospital.

"Do you find me very ridiculous, Mrs Hughes? Putting on airs and graces I've no right to?"

Her voice hadn´t raised a notch as she´d answered him, but the intensity of her reply, of the tone of her voice, still caused his breath to hitch in his chest.

"Mr Carson, you are a man of integrity and honour, who raises the tone of this household by being part of it. So, no more of that, please"

He missed her dreadfully, it was as simple as that.

A short knock on the door shook him out of his reverie and he called out for admittance. One of the young hall boys entered his office, holding out a cream coloured envelope to him. ´You´re mail, Mr Carson!´ he said in his most dignified voiced, assuming his most rigid posture.

¨Thank you, Mr Davies,¨ Charles replied, inwardly amused by the boys´ eagerness. With a curt bow the boy left and Charles eagerly turned the letter in his hand, instantly recognizing from neat handwriting and the stationary that this letter came from her. She wrote him diligently every week and he enjoyed her tales of Downton immensely. Settling himself at his desk, he used a silver letter opener to slid the top of envelope open and took out the closely written letter. Smoothening it down on his desk, he forgot all about his misgivings with Mrs Williams, the suffocating air of London and his homesickness and simply read.

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><p>The six weeks after the disastrous morning she had found out that Mr Molesley had send her letter to Charles passed in a blur of anxiety and nerve-wrecking ponderings, since she honestly didn´t have a clue where they stood or what he thought of her letter.<p>

Once she knew the letter had indeed been send, she had spent the next eight days fretting and worrying, her mind thinking of one ridiculous scheme after another to deal with this dreadful situation. Then, after eight days, a letter from him had arrived, addressed to her. It had been delivered only half an hour before luncheon and she´d decided that it wouldn´t do for the housekeeper of Downton to appear all puffy-eyed and tear-stained at the servant´s hall, because she had been soundly rejected by the man that had held her heart for quite some years. So she had exercised restraint and put the letter on the desk to be read on a later moment, carefully locking the door of her parlour behind her when she left, just in case Mr Molesley was around.

During luncheon she had barely been able to swallow two bites together, her nerves causing her stomach to turn into a tight knot. After luncheon she had overlooked the scullery maids as they cleared away the dishes, had made a round through the house to ensure that everything was running smoothly and had even gone outside to cut some fresh flowers for the hallway display when she realized she was just stalling time and putting off the inevitable. Furious at herself for her cowardly behaviour she had marched back into her parlour and torn the letter open, readying herself for whatever he had to say. Her eyes had skimmed over the words frantically, barely taking them in until she´d reached his signature and sank down on the chair at her desk because her trembling legs could no longer support her.

He hadn´t mentioned her letter or its contents once. Instead he had informed her that the family was in excellent health, that there appeared to be no suitors for either Lady Mary or Lady Edith yet and that Lady Sybil was greatly benefiting from spending time with an Italian master, making good progress in her ability to speak the language fluently. He talked about the weather and the appalling state of the roads now that it had been raining for a week. He told her about an opera he had visited and he finished his letter by telling her that he missed Downton and was greatly looking forward to his return in five weeks.

She had lowered the letter, still staring at it incredulously. Not a word about her letter or any indication that he had even read it. The tone of his letter was perfectly friendly and easy, as if she had never revealed her feelings to him at all. She re-read the letter, trying to detect any signs of his displeasure or discomfort, but found none. Perhaps he was waiting until he got home to confront her face to face with what she had done. This seeming to be the most possible explanation for the lack of response in his letters, she felt she was dreading his home-coming now even more than she had anticipated it at first.

As the weeks wore on, she almost brought herself to the brick of a nervous break-down, concurring up every possible scenario as to how their inevitable talk would go. She hoped fervently that they could salvage their working relationship, even if a continuation of their friendship was no longer an option. If he was willing they could fall into a polite, professional understanding, each of them dealing with their own tasks and responsibilities and trying to meet as infrequent as possible.

Other times she feared he had informed his Lordship of her conduct and she would be sacked the same day the family would return from London. She envisioned the humiliating scene that would follow so vividly that she promptly dreamt about it a few nights in a row, each time waking up covered in cold sweat.

She wondered if she would have to leave Downton as a result of this unfortunate accident and she had been discreetly checking the papers for advertisements. Briefly she toyed with the possibility of simply denying that she had ever send such a letter. If she held her ground and stated that someone else wrote it by means of a practical joke, she might be able to convince them. But she very much doubted she would have the courage to see it through. As hard as it would be to look him in the eye and admit her feelings, it would be even more impossible to look at him and deny them.

And every so often, usually just before she fell asleep, she allowed herself to fantasize about what it would be like if he returned her feelings. If he came home and just swept her in his arms and told her he loved her every bit as much as she loved him. But in the stark and sobering light of the morning these thoughts seemed utterly ludicrous. Her feelings where wholly unreciprocated, she was certain of it.

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><p><strong>Let me know what you think!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

_I hope you won´t mind terribly, but this story is going to have five chapters after all... Chapter 4 got away from me a bit... _

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

On a windy, chilly morning in June Elsie stood outside the front door, lined up with all the other servants to welcome the family and him back home. As the car pulled up on the driveway she felt the heaviness spread from her stomach to her throat, almost making it impossible for her to swallow. Her hands were folded nervously in front of her and she squeezed her fingers together so tightly that the skin around her knuckles was turning white. He was among the first to get out of the car, but he didn´t glance in her direction once, but instead helped the ladies depart from the car and instructed the hall boys which luggage should be brought inside the house first.

Lord and Lady Grantham greeted her warmly and airily and Elsie felt more or less reassured that they weren´t about to toss her out of the estate any time soon. It wasn´t until the whole gathering had made their way into the hallway when she finally found herself locking gazes with Charles.

He took of his bowler and smiled at her, taking her hand in his and squeezing it softly. ¨It´s good to see you again, Mrs Hughes,¨ his deep voice resonated.

¨It´s good to have you home, Mr Carson,¨ she replied, her voice turning into a nervous squeak at the end of the sentence, much to her aggravation. She tried to search his face for any sign or indication of his feelings for her, but he looked as calm and collected as ever. Just then a bit of a fuss erupted behind them when Lady Edith discovered that one of the dresses she had bought in London did not seem to be among the packages that had already been brought inside the house.

Since a new frock was obviously of far greater importance than her mental state or even twenty years of friendship, Elsie tore her eyes away from his face reluctantly and turned around. Their conversation would have to wait until a more appropriate time.

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><p>As it turned out, that time didn´t come until late at night, after the family had retired. She had spent a few minutes hovering outside the door of his pantry, working up the courage to go inside when he opened the door suddenly, almost giving her a heart-attack.<p>

¨Ah, Mrs Hughes,¨ he said pleasantly, his eyes lightening up. ¨Would you like to share the remains of the wine with me?¨

She nodded wordlessly and followed him inside, her skin prickling with nervousness again. She perched herself on the edge of his couch, her posture rigid, ready to bolt whenever necessary. He filled two glasses, appearing to be perfectly at ease and handed her one of them.  
>¨To being home again,¨ he said softly, raising his glass to hers.<p>

¨To being home again…¨ she echoed slightly bewildered. It was almost as if the letter had never been send. As if he didn´t have a clue about her feelings. Gingerly she took a sip of her wine, but it only served to increase her feeling of nausea and finally she decided she had enough. Whatever the outcome of their conversation would be, it wouldn´t be as dreadful as this anxious anticipation. Suddenly she longed to get it over with.

¨I feel that I owe you an apology, Mr Carson,¨ she began, her voice a great deal stronger than she actually felt. She barely noticed the look of surprise on his face as she ploughed on. ¨I realize my manner of correspondence must have been highly upsetting for you and I apologize profoundly for it. It was never meant to happen in the way that it did.¨

¨Well…¨ he started carefully, his face now falling a little. ¨I admit that I was a little surprised. But I understand how stressful it can be to have the responsibility of the house solely on your shoulders, so I chalked it up on that.¨

She stared at him in disbelief. ¨You thought I was simply overwrought?¨

¨Well, it seemed like the most plausible explanation,¨ he replied gently. ¨Please don´t distress yourself over it… I have already forgotten all about it.¨

Slowly her disbelief was giving way to anger. So this was the way it was going to be then? He was simply going to ignore everything that had happened and just going to pretend that her feelings didn´t exist.

Putting down her wineglass on the table with a decisive clink she rose to her feet and said tersely: ¨I´m afraid I´m rather more tired than I thought, Mr Carson. I think I will retire now.¨

He didn´t bother to hide his disappointment at her sudden departure, but he remained perfectly cordial. ¨Of course, Mrs Hughes. This must have been an exhausting day for you.¨ He got to his feet as well and showed her out of his pantry, but she could barely bring herself to look at him anymore, too overwhelmed with disappointment.

After he had gone back inside she stormed upstairs, straight to her bedroom and shut the door behind her with a rather loud bang. Quickly divesting herself of her clothes and shrugging into her nightgown she lay down in bed, facing the ceiling and utterly reeling with indignation.

She had been prepared for anything, had expected anything… except this: that he would simply ignore it and act as if her feelings weren´t there. He even had the audacity to suggest that her feelings were merely the result of her overworked mind, that the responsibility of taking care of Downton had been too much for her feeble, female mind. She made the unhappy discovery that this belittlement of her feelings was even more painful than a rejection could have been. She had feared she would lose his respect, but now she wondered if she had ever had his at all.

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><p>It had gotten to the point where he was actually losing sleep over her behaviour. He had been so looking forward to being home, being with her again, that her aloof, distant behaviour bothered him a great deal. The most frustrating part was that he was absolutely clueless as to what could be the cause of it. She had appeared a little tense and withdrawn at his homecoming, but she had agreed to come to his pantry later that night – only to leave very quickly after she´d come in, claiming fatigue and not even finishing her glass of wine.<p>

He had analysed every word of the brief conversation in his pantry on the evening of his return, but he was none the wiser after that. She had apologized for the brief lapse in their correspondence while he was in London and although he had been a little disappointment at the time about her lack of communication he had, as he had told her, chalked it off on her being too busy at the moment. And after he had written her a second letter after his letter from the last week of April had failed to get a response, she had been as constant as before in answering him. Once she had apologized so sincerely for skipping that one letter, any annoyance he might have felt had evaporated instantly. He couldn´t quite belief that it would bother her to such an extent that she barely wanted to be in the same room with him anymore.

But for some reason, she continued to distant herself from him and it unsettled him greatly. Normally they would meet regularly during the day and stop for a brief chat or an update on each other´s activities. But now it seems that entire days could pass by without him ever bumping into her once and he was beginning to suspect that she was actively avoiding him.

And even though he usually saw her during mealtimes, he began to notice that she often found excuses to skip them altogether or leave after she had barely taken a few bites. It was two weeks after his return from London now and she hadn´t spent a single evening in his company. She always had some sort of an excuse ready: too tired, a meeting with Mrs Patmore, working on some paperwork or correspondence… he was beginning to get thoroughly fed up with it.

It all accumulated on a Monday morning in the third week after his return. He had gone to her parlour, intending to discuss the upcoming arrival of a few guests in the coming weekend, but he had barely been inside when she was already heading for the door, mumbling some vague excuse when he finally had enough.

¨What is it this time?¨ he snapped impatiently. ¨Do you need to feed the horses at the stable? Did one of the ladies misplaced a button that requires your immediate attention? Or are you simply too tired or too busy or too preoccupied to listen to me for five minutes?¨

She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly, a brief look of pain flashing over her features, before she regained her usual composure. ¨Actually, Mr Carson,¨ she told him coldly. ¨I was on my way to inspect the arrival of the supplies for the storeroom. With guests arriving this weekend I thought it prudent to make sure we won´t suddenly find ourselves without any key ingredient for dinner.¨

His shoulders slumped slightly and he bowed his head. ¨I´m very sorry, Mrs Hughes, I spoke out of turn. However, I cannot help but feel that for some reason you have been acting rather distantly of late. If I have done something to offend you, please tell me so that I can make amends.¨

She sighed deeply and he suddenly noticed her pale complexion and the dark circles underneath her eyes. Worry for her well-being overtook him and taking a few steps closer towards her, he reached out and softly touched her elbow. ¨Something is obviously upsetting you,¨ he told her gently. ¨Can you not tell me?¨

She bit her lip and wrung her hands together nervously. ¨It´s that letter…¨ she began haltingly and stopping then to take another shuddering breath.

He almost laughed out loud in relief. ¨I´ve told you before not to worry about that. I know you were particularly busy at that time. I don´t hold it against you, you can be assured of it.¨

Instead of calming her down as he had intended to do, his words only seemed to anger her further. ¨I didn´t write that letter because I was tired or overwrought,¨ she spat at him. ¨I meant every word of it, even though you weren´t meant to read it!¨

His eyebrows knotted in confusion. ¨I´m not sure that I understand you… you _did_ write me a letter then?¨

It was only then that realization dawned on her, draining her of all her anger and resentment, replacing it with a feeling as if the rug had been pulled from under her – again. He really didn´t have a clue what she was talking about. For some obscure and incomprehensible reason he hadn´t received _that_ letter. Somehow her secret was still safe and he was none the wiser about her feelings. He simply thought she hadn´t replied to one of his letters – during that dreadful week when she had been waiting for a reply from _him_ to _her _letter. She blinked a few times, trying to get her thoughts and feelings in order, while he still stared at her, looking equally bewildered.

¨What letter are you talking about… what wasn´t I suppose to read?¨ he asked eventually, trying to make sense of her earlier outburst.

She looked down, trying rapidly to remember what she had and hadn´t told him. If he didn´t know, she most certainly wasn´t going to tell him now. ¨It was nothing, Mr Carson,¨ she answered in what she hoped would come across as a bright voice. ¨It seems this has been nothing more than a miscommunication.¨

Charles Carson was not that easily deterred though. ¨You mentioned a letter…¨ he insisted. ¨Was there anything amiss that you needed to tell me about?¨

¨No!¨ Goodness, how was she going to distract him from that involuntarily slip of the tongue? Deciding to go with his earlier assumption that she was upset about a letter she _hadn´t_ sent, she said in a deliberate calm voice: ¨There wasn´t a letter. While you were away in London I got rather caught up with all my duties here and I forgot to reply to one of your letters. I am very sorry about that.¨  
>She could only hope that he would accept this excuse and would leave it at that.<p>

¨Please believe me when I say that it didn´t upset me nearly as much as it seems to upset you,¨ he told her, his expression softening again. ¨I very much enjoyed every single letter I received from you while I was in London… you haven´t in any way been deficient in your correspondence.¨

She smiled genuinely at him for the first time in weeks. ¨Well… let´s forget this episode then, shall we?¨

He continue to stare at her, his brow frowning slightly. Something didn´t make sense, her chance of countenance was just too sudden. ¨Are you certain that is all there is to it, Mrs Hughes?¨ he asked slowly. ¨You seemed rather distressed these last weeks – and rather put out with me as well.¨

She was still frantically thinking of a suitable reply when they were disturbed by a knock on the door. Whoever it was, Elsie felt certain that this person deserved her eternal gratitude. These sentiments disappeared quickly however when Mr Molesley entered the pantry. He looked at her rather apprehensively and then turned towards Charles.

¨I just came to ask if my services are required next weekend?¨ he said, smiling nervously and glancing in Elsie´s direction every so often.

¨We will have a room ready for Mr Crawley if he does not wish to go home,¨ Charles replied thoughtfully. ¨But since Mr Crawley has already indicated that he will be present all weekend, but will return to Crawley House at night, I think you´ll be mostly needed there.¨

Then he looked at Elsie. ¨Unless you believe we need him here?¨

¨Oh no, I dare say we´ll manage perfectly well without Mr Molesley,¨ Elsie replied before she could stop herself, barely able to keep the bite out of her voice. She threw Molesley a dark look and he visibly shrank underneath her gaze.

Charles watched the interaction between them with great confusion. Whatever he had done recently to get on her bad side, it appeared that poor Mr Moseley was even more in the dog house.

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><p><strong>I´d love to hear what you think!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Reading your guesses is as much fun as writing this chapter. Thanks for all the feedback and enjoy!  
>Oh, and spot the Persuasion quote! <em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

From there on things picked up a bit. She no longer avoided him and agreed to spend an evening in his pantry again, enjoying the leftover wine. And although that first evening was still a little awkward, once it was over they fell back in their familiar, comfortable routine. Another two weeks passed and it appeared as if everything was back to normal again.

Except that he couldn´t quite let go of the thought that there had been something more – something that he had somehow missed. He felt like a dog with a bone, determined to find out what it had been that had upset her so. His only clue was her rather cryptic remark about a letter. A letter of which she had meant every word, but that for some reason shouldn´t have been read by him. He had pulled out all the letters she´d send him when he was in London and studied each and every one of them carefully, but he came up blank. There was nothing out of the ordinary in them. He briefly contemplated asking her about it again, but he was anxious to put another strain on their only recently mended understanding.

Something just wasn´t quite right. He caught her staring wistfully in the distance rather often and she still appeared to be a little absent-minded on occasion. And whatever it was that Mr Moseley had done to get in her bad books, it looked like there was little chance she would forgive him any time soon.

The answer to his ponderings came one morning, about a month after his return from London. Just as he was about to go out and start the dinner preparations, William brought in a letter addressed to him, that had arrived earlier that afternoon. Much to his surprise he noticed it was from the London housekeeper. Wondering what on earth she could have to write to him about, he placed the letter on his desk and left for the dining hall, promptly forgetting all about it.

It wasn´t until he returned that evening, around ten o´ clock at night that he noticed it again. Settling himself down in his armchair, he opened the letter and was surprised when another letter fell out of the envelope, accompanied by a small note, informing him that this letter had been misplaced at the post office and had only been delivered to the Grantham House last week. He picked up the wrinkled, folded, cream-coloured envelope and immediately recognized Elsie´s handwriting.

With a small start he realized that this was most likely the letter she had been referring to a few weeks ago in his pantry and which existence she had studiously denied ever since. Any answers to her puzzling behaviour of the last month would probably be found inside the envelope. Carefully he slid it open and pulled out a tightly-written sheet of paper. His eyes checked the date first: _Downton, 23th of April, 1913_. Then he began to read in earnest, the first words already causing his heart to expand in his chest.

_´Dearest Charles…´_

It wasn´t until he had read the letter for the third time that its meaning finally began to filter through his brain. She loved him. Deeply and steadfastly. As much, as passionately and as whole-heartily as he loved her. This was not a letter to recover easily from and he was still staring at it when a soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. The door opened only slightly and her face peeked around it.

¨I´m about to turn in, Mr Carson, unless there´s anything you need.¨

He regarded her with a rather dazed expression on his face, subconsciously covering the letter with his hands. She looked a little tired and wore what he had come to dub as her ´unguarded face´. Usually, at the end of a long day when they had worked hard, but everything had gone smoothly, her face would acquire that peculiar expression of satisfied tiredness. Her posture would become a tad less rigid and she would smile that little content smile that told him all she was looking forward now was a well-deserved sleep. This lapse in her usual so stern composure made her look a little vulnerable and for some reason it was always very endearing to him.

¨Sleep well, Mrs Hughes,¨ he told her with a soft smile.

¨You too, Mr Carson,¨ she allowed a hint of worry to slip into her voice. ¨Don´t be up too long. It´s been a long day for both of us.¨

¨I won´t,¨ he promised, his mind barely on the conversation and fully on the revelations this beautiful woman had made in her letter. And yet, he couldn´t bring himself to tell her yet. The shock was too fresh and he still needed time to process it all.

She gave him another little, beguiling smile and then she quietly closed the door behind her. He sat there, watching the door for what seemed like an hour. She had come to his pantry countless of times in the last twenty years to bid him goodnight. But knowing what he knew now shed a whole new light on the brief encounter.

She always made sure she wished him goodnight before she went upstairs, but now the vague aching feeling in his chest that this always evoked in him turned into a much clearer longing. Suddenly he pictured them as they would retire for the night together. He would extinguish the fire in the fireplace, she would turn off the oil lamps and blow out the candles. Together they would close the door of his pantry or her parlour – wherever they had spent the evening and they would make their final round through the servants quarters. He would check if the back door of the servant´s hall was really close and she would ensure the kitchen was in order. They would make their way upstairs through the darkness of the house and at one point, as they were ascending the stairs he would take her hand, wrapping his fingers closely around hers. They would enter into his room or hers, inseparably together…

He shook his head ruefully. As romantic as this particular daydream was, it was still highly impossible, as they were both still in service. Then he looked down at the letter in his hand and every doubt disappeared as his heart filled with an almost reckless optimism. Not with a letter like this. Nothing seemed remotely impossible anymore. Slowly getting to his feet, he went through all the motions he had just envisioned alone. And still, as he made his way upstairs through the pitch-black of the house he no longer felt alone, the words she had written coming to life as he heard her voice in his head speaking them.

Her actions of the past months became perfectly clear now and he cringed as he realized how he must have unknowingly added to her discomfort by being utterly clueless about the reason for her distress. He still didn´t understand how this letter had found its way to London - her statement that he hadn´t been meant to read it indicating that she hadn´t sent to him willingly. But it all made so much more sense now. No wonder she had been angry at him, no wonder she had been so nervous upon his return.

Suddenly he found himself lying in bed, clad in his pyjama. Somehow he had managed to get himself ready for the night without even noticing. He settled himself for another sleepless night, knowing full well that his thoughts would keep him occupied all through the night. It didn´t matter, he needed this time to come to a full and thorough acceptation of the fact that Elsie Hughes truly loved him. And to think of a way to tell her that he felt the same.

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><p>During breakfast it had been him who had been detained by his Lordship and by the time he finally came downstairs she was already on her rounds. He lingered in his pantry, ate a sandwich and hoped he would managed to catch her after she came down. But when Thomas informed him that the wine had been delivered he had no choice but to go down to the cellar to ensure all the bottles were stacked away properly. This took up most of his morning, but when he returned to the servant´s hall, shortly before luncheon, he caught sight of her entering her parlour. He paused for a moment, debating what to do. With only fifteen minutes to spare before both their presence was required in the servant´s hall, it wouldn't be wise to make any declaration now. A determined look settled on his face. If he was going to tell Elsie Hughes after twenty years that he loved her, he wasn´t going to be rushed.<p>

Just then the backdoor of the servant´s hall opened and Anna and Beth, one of the scullery maids, breezed in, carrying heavy baskets with laundry. A ray of sunshine and a warm breeze fell through the room from the open door and as he realized what a beautiful day it actually was, a plan began to hatch inside his head. He pulled Anna to the side and quickly made his small request.

Then he made his way over to her parlour to find her sitting at her desk, pouring over some accounts. She looked up with a smile and suddenly he found himself completely at loss for words. For years and years he had kept his feelings for her under a tight look, forbidding himself to act upon them, or to even linger on them in his mind. He had done it for countless reasons - or so he had told himself. It would have been wrong for him to become involved with a member of his staff. He had sworn to himself long ago that his time of dalliances were a thing of the past. He had always frowned upon relationships between servants and he could make no exception for himself. But now he discovered that there only had been one reason why he´d held back all those years: up until last night he hadn´t believed for a second that she would return his feelings.

But now that he knew, every other reason seemed nothing more than irrelevant excuses. Now that he knew her heart, it was impossible to keep his own love for her in check any longer.

¨What can I do for you, Mr Carson?¨ It wasn´t until he heard her voice that he realized that he had been staring at her for some quite some time. He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed and highly distracted by the look of amusement in her eyes and the way her smile turned a little teasing.

¨I was wondering if you could join me for a little walk after luncheon?¨ he asked, taking a few steps closer towards her. ¨There is something I feel that I need to discuss with you.¨

Her brow knitted in confusion. ¨During a walk?¨

He gave a little shrug and held her gaze. ¨It´s a beautiful day. It seems like a shame to waste it. I´ve already talked to Anna, she´ll be happy to hold the fort for an hour or so.¨

¨Alright…¨ She nodded slowly, still looking a little puzzled.

Relieved that she had agreed to come he extended his hand to her. ¨It´s almost time for luncheon.¨  
>Just before they exited her parlour she stopped in front of her mirror that was placed on top of the chest of drawers. With a little frown she rearranged a strand of hair and pushed a few pins tighter into her bun.<p>

¨You look lovely.¨ The words were out of his mouth before he could check himself and he watched as her movements froze and she turned around to face him, her mouth slightly agape.  
>He should be embarrassed by his forwardness, but the truth was, he really wasn´t. He had thought it on countless occasions over the past years and as the initial shock over his sudden boldness was wearing off, he began to enjoy the way her cheeks tinged pink and she continue to blink at him.<p>

¨You do,¨ he insisted firmly. ¨Come on, they´ll all be waiting for us.¨ He opened the door and allowed her to go first. As she brushed passed him, she was still eyeing him incredulously and he didn´t fight the small grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She was just going to have to get used to being admired.

* * *

><p>As butler and housekeeper, they usually sat close together, he at the head of the table and she on his right. Their close proximity made it easy for them to talk quietly and fairly undisturbed most of the time. They didn´t talk now, but he couldn´t keep his eyes off her. She had glanced at him on a few occasions and he refused to lower his gaze, but continued look at her, until she looked away, her confusion becoming more apparent each time.<p>

She loved him. The thought still filled him with wonder and made him look at her completely different. He had always admired her complexion, but now he wondered – allowed himself to wonder what her skin would feel beneath his fingers and lips. He had always been mesmerized by her voice, but now as he watched her lips move as she was talking briefly to O´Brien, he wondered what they would taste like.

Her conversation with O´Brien had come to an end and she glanced sideways, finding his eyes on her again. He continued to hold her gaze until she blushed slightly and looked down at the napkin lying in her lap. Then she looked up again, a hint of worry appearing in her eyes.

¨Is something wrong, Mr Carson?¨ she asked quietly.

He gave her a little smile and shook his head lightly. ¨Nothing´s wrong, Mrs Hughes.¨ And when she reached out for the salt he hastened to hand it to her, deliberately brushing his fingers over her hand as he pulled back.

For a few minutes he busied himself with his own meal, until he accidently moved his right leg a little so that his lower leg came in full contact with hers. His first impulse was to pull back and mumble an apology, but he resisted and let his leg rest against hers for a moment, watching in amazement as the hand that gripped her knife was turning white at the knuckles form the way she was squeezing it. It was only when he pulled away that her fingers relaxed somewhat. But he was close enough to be able to hear that her breathing pattern had become somewhat irregular.

The wheels in his head were turning as he began to realize just how much of an effect he was having on her. Had it always been like this? Had he always been able to affect her so by a mere look or touch? He had always kept a professional distance from her, but over the years there had certainly been occasions where he had touched her. He offered her his arm on walks back from church when the roads were slippery. Occasionally he placed his hand on her back as she passed him through a door and their arms often brushed as they were walking through the corridors together. And of course there had been that memorable time when a speck of dust had gotten into her eye and he had held her face in his hand, trying to get the dust out with the tip of his handkerchief. Had she been as affected then as she was now? At the time he hadn´t noticed, being too preoccupied by the effect her nearness was having on him, but now he wondered if he had just been a very oblivious fool all those years.

Or he was simply imagining things. Surely the feel of his leg against hers wouldn´t get that much of a reaction out of her, would it?

The thought, once it had entered his mind, was too tempting to resist and slowly he allowed his leg to move forward again, until it´s lower half was once again firmly pressed against hers. He couldn´t been sure if he had heard the small hitch of her breath correctly, but his eyes were not deceiving him. She took hold of her glass of water but put it down after a few seconds, because her hand was trembling slightly. Instead she reached for her napkin and brought it shakily to her lips to wipe her mouth, her eyes darting to his side for only a fleeting second before her hand dropped back in her lap again, creasing the napkin with her tight grip.

Suddenly he felt guilty for making her so uncomfortable. He drew his leg back again and turned his attention back to his food.

They needed to talk.

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><p><strong>And they will, hopefully tomorrow. Meanwhile, please let me know what you think!<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I never post a chapter ´hot from the press´. Usually I keep the file on my computer for a few days, stirring it every now and then like you should do with a good soup. But I really wanted to finish posting the story today and the chapter *just* got ready - so I hope there won´t be too many mistakes...  
>Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews and comments and enjoy the last installment! <em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Immediately after luncheon was over, Elsie managed to escape back into her parlour. Closing the door securely behind her, she leant against it, covering her flaming cheeks with her hands. What was the matter with her? He paid her _one_ off- handed compliment and her composure was entirely in shreds. Taking a few deep breaths she tried to steady herself and reflect on what had happened. His behaviour had been a little puzzling - he had been staring at her quite a lot, but nothing that merited this type of reaction, surely?

She almost snorted. After acting like a complete lunatic all month, he was probably just keeping an eye out to have her taken away if need be. It was just that after the disastrous incident with the letter she found it hard, if not impossible to fall back into their platonic friendship. One could say Pandora´s box had been opened. As nerve-wrecking as the last two months had been, a tiny part of her had glowed with anticipation. Upon his return she had believed that at least all those years of unrequited love would somehow get resolved over the course of the next few days. When it had all fallen flat and he appeared to be as clueless about her feelings as before, this tiny, excited part, refused to be laid to rest again and content itself with their steady friendship and excellent working relationship. After all the tension and anticipation of the last few weeks she just wanted to know if he returned her feelings.

If he did, she´d be over the moon. For the last couple of weeks it had been increasingly hard to keep her romantic daydreams and fantasies at bay of what it would have been like if he had received her letter and reciprocated her love. Would they have stayed at Downton and keep their relationship a secret? Would they have left service and built a life for themselves somewhere else? She found she could agree with whatever scenario happily, as long as she was secured of his affections.  
>And if he'd rejected her – well, at least she could have moved on then, knowing exactly where she stood and no longer having to wonder if there was a hidden meaning behind every look or every touch that surpassed his professional demeanour.<p>

But it wasn't to be. He was none the wiser about her feelings and she really should be grateful she had been spared the very uncomfortable and humiliating conversation of having to have to explain the contents of her letter to him.  
>The whereabouts of the letter still gave her some reason for concern though. It had been sent, but it was obvious that Charles had not received it, so the question that remained was: where was it now? The idea of a letter, conveying her deepest feelings for someone as private as Charles Carson, being out there somewhere was a highly unsettling one. Perhaps she could make a few discreet inquiries at the post office and hopefully the letter could be tracked down and be burned.<p>

Remembering she had promised Charles she'd join him for a walk, she tried to gather her usual brisk composure together and slowly made her way back to the servant's hall, wondering what the purpose of this walk could be.

He was waiting for her at the back door, already donned in his coat and bowler, holding out her coat to her. She slipped into it and tried to ignore the fact that his hands rested briefly on her shoulders., once he had helped her into it. After she had put on her hat, she turned to him and smiled. "All ready!"

As much as she tried to tell herself that she was just imagining things, there was no denying that he was still looking at her intently. She could feel his eyes on her as they made their way over the gravel path around the house.

"Is there a particular route you'd like to take?" she asked, fighting down a surge of nervousness.

He indicated the path to the pond at the end of the estate. ¨It´ll be nice and quiet there,¨ he gave as explanation.

Nice and quiet for what? She wondered. What on earth was the matter with him? What could he have to discuss with her that was so private he couldn´t talk to her in their respective sitting rooms? Suddenly a dreadful thought crept up on her. He was taking her away from the house because whatever it was he had to say was something so personal, he wanted to eliminate any chance of being overheard. Perhaps he was ill, or planning his retirement, of had been offered another job…

She risked another look at him, relieved to see that at least he wasn´t staring at her so much anymore, allowing her the chance to study him a little. First she looked at his face. There was a small smile playing around his lips and he looked happy, relaxed even. But then she noticed the hands. As he was walking he was rhythmically clenching and unclenching his fists, clearly indicating some sort of anxiety. Unconsciously she took up a rather swift pace, partly just to get to the pond as soon as possible and partly because it helped her to relieve her own, rapidly building tension.

She didn´t really know she was doing this, until she felt his hand on her arm, pulling her hand to the crook of his elbow. ¨Do you need to catch a train?¨ he asked bemused.

Slowing her pace she fell into step with him and laughed a little. ¨No… I´m just rather curious as to why you feel the need to take me all the way here.¨

¨Because I would like not be disturbed for once,¨ was his rather enigmatic answer as they arrived at the pond and he took her hand in his, tugging her a few steps further down the path until they were behind a large oak tree, carefully hidden out of sight.

Still with her hand in his, he looked down at her face, which was still as confused as before. Suddenly he felt incredibly nervous and his mouth went dry as he was struck by the significance of the moment. A careful approach would do it.

¨Elsie…¨ he started carefully. This already evoked a small gasp from the woman in front of him. In all the years they had worked together, the number of times he had used her Christian name could be counted on the fingers of one hand. ¨I received a letter yesterday from the London housekeeper… apparently a letter you´ve send to me during the Season has gotten misplaced at the post office and she forwarded it to me… ¨

There could be no question what letter he was referring to and Elsie felt her face flush crimson with mortification. That blasted, stupid, disastrous letter. ¨Charles…¨ she began shakily. After all this was not a moment between a butler and a housekeeper, this was a moment between them, between Elsie and Charles. ¨I`m ever so sorry… ¨ She was determined to keep looking him in the eye. She would face him, face this and deal with the consequences… it would only be later in the privacy of her bedroom or parlour that she would give way to tears or panic. Only then she would cry over the loss of his friendship and respect. For now she would try her utmost to try and salvage it. ¨You were never meant to read it and I feel dreadful for placing you in this position…¨

He realized now this was a very bad start to their conversation. He should have made his declaration first and explained about the letter later. Now, instead of being able to tell her how much he loved her, he had set her off into a series of distressed apologies. As he listened to her pleading words , the building look of panic in her eyes was tearing him apart. ¨Elsie…¨ he tried, but she was passed listening already.

There was only one thing for it. Bending down he captured her lips with his own, effectively silencing whatever else she was going to say.

His kiss was so sudden and so unexpected that her head swayed for a second. Out of reflex she placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as she slowly became aware of the way his mouth moved over hers, carefully exploring the curves of her lips. Before she had gathered her wits enough to even think about returning his kiss though, he was already pulling away from her and she felt a pang of disappointment, realizing it was over even before she could even begin to really live it.

Almost automatically picking up from where she´d left off when he kissed her, she started to apologize again.  
>¨Charles, I am sorry for springing all this on you…¨<p>

At the same time his words filtered through.  
>¨Elsie… I´m terribly sorry for pounding on you in this fashion…¨<p>

They both ceased talking abruptly and she gave a little laugh, breaking the tension between them a little. Her hands were still on his shoulders and just as she was about to pull away she felt his arms slip around her, holding her close to him. Looking up in his eyes she found him looking at her once again, but the soft, tender look in his eyes was completely new and it took her breath away.

¨Please… don´t ever apologize again… I have never been happier in my life than when I read your letter, well… up until just now that is. I shouldn´t have taken such a liberty in kissing you, not before I even have told you about my feelings, but let me do so now…¨ he took another deep breath before he continued. ¨Elsie, I love you.

So very much.¨

* * *

><p>They couldn´t be spared from the house for long. In the end they hadn´t more than ten minutes together, no more time to share anything other than another brief kiss and a few whispered words of love. Apart from the severe lack of time he had realized quickly that his master plan to get her away from the house to declare his feelings for her had another major flaw: between all the coats, hats and gloves they were wearing it was almost impossible to really feel her. As he´d kissed her again, his hands had held her waist, but to him it had felt as if he was only holding a handful of coat. Of rather nice coat to be sure, but still. And as she had moved her hand to his face he had longed to feel her fingers on his skin, instead of the thick layer of cotton from her gloves.<p>

Carefully he had asked her if he could come to her parlour that evening. Her eyes had lightened up and she had given him a small but obviously eager nod, sending his heart racing with anticipation.

And now they were both in her parlour, on her sofa and as their kisses grew more confident and less restraint, both of them were eager to discover what gave the other the most pleasure.

His weight on her was rather comforting and she stretched happily against him, moving her hand into his soft, thick hair, while he was gently kissing her neck. The shock of his declaration had finally began to wear off and now, secure in the knowledge that he loved her as much as she loved him, she finally allowed herself to give in as he showed her just how much and she found ways to convey the same to him.

¨Remember me to thank Mr Molesley in the morning,¨ he murmured against her skin.

¨Thank him!¨ she exclaimed exasperated, her eyes flying open. ¨Don´t you dare… I almost suffered a stomach ulcer because of that man!¨

He chuckled against her lips before capturing them again in a brief, loving kiss. ¨My poor Elsie…¨ he whispered against her cheek as he moved his hand from her waist and placed it over her stomach, caressing her gently. His lips found a very sensitive spot on her neck again and he kissed and nipped at the delicate skin. It was only then that he noticed that her breathing had turned rather laboured. He pulled back to look at her and the look on her face set his blood on fire. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were shut tightly. Her lips were slightly parted and her lower lip was bright red from the way she´d been biting on it. He didn´t think he had ever seen her look as beautiful as in that moment.

¨Elsie…¨ his voice was left to nothing more than a hoarse whisper and he moved up a little, covering her lips again with his mouth, soothing the crease in her lower lip with his tongue.

With his hand still on her stomach, caressing her with soft, insistent strokes, breathing deeply became almost impossible and as she started to respond to his kiss, she could feel how her whole body began to tingle with nervousness, excitement and anticipation. After a while his hand slipped around her waist again and she rested her forehead against his chin, trying to catch her breath.

Pulling away slightly, she gazed up in his eyes, seeing her own dazed excitement mirrored in his look. ¨You´re so beautiful,¨ he told her seriously, running his hand through her hair, which had come loose a long time ago.

¨Charles…¨ She was surprised at how breathless her voice sounded. ¨You… I… I feel like I´m losing my mind…¨ she admitted, the colour on her cheeks deepening.

¨Is it too much then? Or too soon?´ he asked worried. ¨Are you frightened?¨

How was it possible that this man could make her feel so safe and secure and at the same time could set every nerve in her body on fire by the barest of touches? Slowly she reached up to stroke his temple, trailing her fingertips down over his cheek to his neck. As her fingers brushed over a spot just beneath his ear she could feel a shiver ran down his back and with a jolt she realized she was having exactly the same effect on him.

She smiled happily and suddenly completely carefree. ¨No Charles, not in the slightest,¨ she replied and pulled him to her.

**The end**

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><p><strong>Please let me know what you think! <strong>


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